


Pilgrimmage

by EasternViolet



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mild Sexual Content, Romance, Urn Sacred Ashes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 02:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EasternViolet/pseuds/EasternViolet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when an elf of little faith takes a pilgrimage?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pilgrimmage

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Kira Tamarion and DoorbellSpider for their beta reviews!

 

“Commander Hess?” The messenger stood timidly in the doorway. As I returned my quill to the well, I realized the sun had set and I had been reading in the dark.

“I am he, enter.” My mother named me Alim Surana, but no shemlen or Elvhen has ever called me that. That name is lost to me. I am Jashen Hess. Perhaps you might have heard of me? The Queen honours me as the Hero of Ferelden, the Grey Wardens salute me as Commander of the Grey and the Chantry refers to me as a _Consular Mage_. I suppose Chantry needed to come up with a title to refer to a mage living outside the confines of the tower. I am the thorn in their side; the crack in their glass… they don’t quite know what to do with me. Despite their malcontent and inability to easily categorize me, I am Jashen Hess all the same. 

My answer seemed to have surprise the _shem_ at my door, and tentatively held out a letter for me. I set it atop of a pile of ratty papers, nodded and returned to the accounting ledger, but not before noticing his eyes narrow. The look of doubt that I am Commander of the Grey no longer offends me. Sometimes when I awake, I feel same thing and wonder what strange twists of fate had brought me to the Administrative Offices at Vigil’s Keep. Sometimes I still curse Duncan for conscripting me. Once I thought there was forgiveness in my heart, as being a Warden eventually led to me to Leliana. But now that she is gone, my bitterness has returned, like the cold draughts that eddies between the ancient mortar and stiffens my joints.

“Is there anything else?” I asked pointedly, straightening in my chair and glared back from the shadows. _Who is this half-wit?_ I wondered. Surely all of Ferelden is talking about the oddity that is the Commander. Perhaps they need to see me to believe.

“No Commander, my apologies.” He bowed and ducked back into the hallway. 

I stared at the blackened wick, inhaled and blew quickly. The candle sparked to life, grew tall and then wavered in the draughty room. My eye caught the seal on the delivered message. It was late and I had fully intended on returning at first light to complete the tedium of paperwork that I had been reduced to attending. Ever since Mistress Woosley had returned to Weisshaupt, the Arling’s accounting had suddenly landed into my lap, to which I consistently respond with, “I’d rather go face-to-face with a snarling hurlock.” Secretly, I did not mind. It was one of the few tasks that allowed me time alone without those at the Keep poking in their noses to ask if everything was all right. I grew tired of lying. 

The sealing wax could easily be confused for a pool of blood in the candlelight and I wasn't sure if that is more of a reflection of my ire towards my current task or a portent regarding the letter’s contents. With a quick slash of the letter opener, I decided to sate my curiosity, despite my weariness.

 

_17 Firstfall, 9:32 Dragon_

_Warden-Commander Hess,_

 

_It is with great honour that I cordially request your presence to partake in the first sanctioned pilgrimage to the Urn of Sacred Ashes at the (soon to be dedicated) Temple of Andraste, near Haven. Your role in finding the remains Our Holy Prophetess, has been duly recorded in the annals of Chantry history and this most holy of occasions would be remiss without your presence. Please join me on the last day of Haring for the official rededication of the temple. The Grand Cleric wishes to formally acknowledge your good works and has asked me to extend this invitation on her behalf. I am sure the many pilgrims would take great pleasure in making their first of many journeys with the Hero of Ferelden._

_If your duties permit such a journey, please stop in Denerim so we may travel together._

_Yours in the Maker’s name_

_Brother Genitivi_

In response, I held the corner of the letter over the flame. The Holy Prophetess, The Maker and the bloody Chantry—I  could not name three other things that elicited equal annoyance and vexation. Not only had the Chantry sought to convert every elven youngling in the alienage to their foolish tales of a single omnipotent being but they also spread this invention that magic is a result of sin. And of course, it goes without saying, that this is the institution responsible for annexing every mage in Thedas and imprisoning us “for our own good.” I crumpled the letter into a tight ball and tossed it at the door. It bounced off the jamb and landed on the threshold. 

“The Arlings’ finances are that bad, are they?”

Sigrun appeared where the messenger had stood, with crossed arms and an impish smirk. As she strided in, she bent over and collected the paper ball and approached, tossing it playfully in the air. Dramatically, she demonstrated the nimbleness of her roguish fingers and allowed it to land on the top of her fist and then with the speed of a striking snake, caught it. Not breaking her stride, she smoothed it flat and started to read. For a moment, I was offended at her lack of propriety and respect for privacy, but reminded myself that the message was destined for the hearth.

 “Seems like the Warden-Commander’s a very popular chap! Lookie here… guest of honour and everything.”

I stood at the window and watched the lantern-lights flicker throughout Vigil’s Keep.  “It’s nothing but kindling for my fire in the morning.”

“Oh come, Commander. You fail to see the opportunity in this.” Her puckish expression broke through the severity of the shadowy tattoos that lined her weathered skin.

“Don’t you have some Deep Roads to explore?” I grumbled.

With a sort of pluckiness that I had come to expect of her, she popped into the chair and crossed her feet atop my, leaving smudges of mud on my sums.

“If I had the chance to have the Shaper say nice things about me in front of every sodding noble in the Diamond Quarter… I’d jump at the chance. Rub all their stubby noses in it even!”

“That isn’t the point, Sigrun.”

“Of course it isn’t the point, Jashen… but come on… you could set fire to the Grand Cleric’s hair… or make it rain and turn the ashes into the Urn of Sacred Mud… Think of the mayhem you could cause! Oh please, let me come with you. This is something that I don’t want to miss!” She wove her fingers together in a sign of mock-pleading, her mouth curved into an impish grin.

If my mood were not so foul, I might have shown my amusement; it was not often that Sigrun begged for anything. I'll have to remind her of that when I need to gain an advantage over her. For the moment, I allowed myself to wallow in my bitterness. It is something that I have become relatively adept at. It was not Arling’s accounting that required my attention. Dealing with numbers was ultimately easier than dealing with the rest of the world. Numbers don’t deceive.

I rubbed my forehead, as if trying to placate a headache I had not yet developed. “The last thing I want to do is listen to the Grand Cleric put on airs and recite some prepared speech about how an Elven Circle Mage completed a quest the Chantry was unable to complete…” The idea so repulsed me, that a shiver trickles down my spine.    

Sigrun bit her lip and raised an eyebrow. “Obviously you have been sitting up here in the dark with your abacus for too long. You’re not considering the entire picture.”

Before I could check my reaction, my brow arched and signaled that I was interested in her answer. Up until that moment, I was quite convinced that nothing of interest could be construed from the invitation.

Sigrun blew on her fingernails, still black with filth, and then rubbed them on the collar of her tunic, as if to polish them. “I do recall that you found the Urn with a certain somebody.”

I grunted, knowing now where the conversation was heading. “Sten was there… “

“…and…”

“Juzo.” I knew I was being difficult, but the temptation to get a rise from Sigrun was too great.

“Your sodding hound? You name your hound before you mention the love of your life?”

Suddenly, the discussion had become much too personal and I resented the amount of gossip that had circulated amongst the Wardens. What happened between Leliana and myself was so sacred that to have anyone speak of us was blasphemy. I thought for a moment longer—realizing that Oghren must have started the rumours—and cringed at the thought of the crass details he must have proffered.

Sigrun sighed audibly, expressing an exaggerated frustration. “Must I spell this out for you?” She flicked the beads on the abacus forcefully. “From what I’ve heard, finding the Urn was a very big deal to her. And now that she has run off to Ancestors knows where… don’t you suppose she’ll…”

I placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t you suppose she would have sent word about such a journey already?” My tone wavered as reality sinks in.

She turned to look at me, her eyes now wide and earnest. “Well, you will never know unless you try.”

>>..:=+*+=:..<<

_The Ruined Temple, 18 Months Prior…_

 

I run my fingers through her hair, entranced at the sensation of each silken strand of fiery auburn slipping past my knuckles and then falling back into place. Her skin is equally soft and we were wrapped in nothing more than a bear pelt, feigning sleep in the temple ruins. My finger traced down her arm, hesitated, and then continued over the contour of her full hips. She must have been asleep, or enjoyed the sensation, as she remained perfectly still, perfect like a marble statue. I brushed my hand over her belly and pulled her toward me, settling her against my growing need. As I gently coaxed her awake, my hand drifted upward, ghosting softly beneath her breast.  Brushing my palm against her nipple, I gently squeezed, feel her nipple harden and perk and then resumed my exploration further south. Before my fingers arrived at their intended destination, she squirmed away, twisted around and was then face to face with me, her sweet breath on my lips and her arms entwined around my neck. She kissed me softly, sucking gently on my lip before pulling away. It was not enough for me. I wanted to devour her, consume her and returned to her mouth with fervency, darting my tongue, twining with hers, losing myself momentarily in our connection. She separated from me with a lazy grin.  

“Shhhh… I do not want to wake him.”

I looked over her shoulder and playfully quirked an eyebrow. “I’m sure Juzo won’t tell anyone.”

She pulled back, tracing fingertips down my chest. They descend to my navel and I repositioned myself to coax her farther downward. I was unsure if she was just teasing or if she was truly wary of bothering Sten. Surely, he has heard us before.

Her hands, cool and delicate, glide upwards, and traced the line of my jaw. I wanted to growl in frustration but smiled instead, taking her fingers and kissing the tips, skimming them over my lips. 

“Silly,” she said.

Her eyes were deep pools, earnest and sweet. She bit her bottom lip. “Do you think we will find it?”

My hand lands on the small of her back, and I hoped to distract her from the business of work and wondered how she rationalizes our discussion as having no impact upon our sleeping companion. With Juzo at the door, there was no need to schedule night watch—even Sten trusted my mabari’s keen senses. I pulled myself a little closer to remind her of what I had started.

“Brother Genitivi seems certain,” I sighed. “Why is it so important that you find this? Is your faith not enough?” The opportunity presented itself and finally, my fingers found the moist eagerness of her entrance. Her mouth opened slightly. Letting out a soft sigh, she allowed my finger to slip inside. Her eyes closed and she smiles as I found her pleasing pace My activities, paired with the conversation at hand, are more than a little amusing. Despite my gentle strokes and her undulating response, she still seemed quite determined to talk, so I decided there was no point in hurrying. Beneath my carnal veneer, I truly wanted to hear what she had to say. I was well-rested and there were still hours before dawn. Words would eventually fade, while our need would remain. 

“I don’t need to find it to prove anything. I need to do this for _her_.” For a moment, I thought she was talking about Isolde, until she noticed my perplexed expression. “For Andraste. When the Maker heard her song, she was invited to his side, but instead, selflessly asks our Maker to forgive humanity and help us during our darkest hour. For that one gracious act she was burned alive and her followers risked their lives to retrieve her remains. … and now the opportunity has presented itself… that I can do something for her.”

I realized my hands had started wandering again—I could not resist her heat, her inviting softness. She was not done, however, and I focused harder on the sweetness of her voice. Andraste must have had a voice like hers. I now understand why the Maker extended his welcome to such a beauty. Of course, this was just wild speculation brought on by the fierceness of my simmering need. There is no such thing as a Maker and Andraste was at the very least, a Ferelden folk hero.  

“And what if we turn up a dead end?” I asked, brushing my lips just under her chin. 

“Then I can say I tried. What about you? To what ends would you go for Elgar'nan and Mythal?”

Her question was halting and I rolled onto my back, weaving my fingers together on top of my chest.  I stared at the ceiling. With the grace of a skilled assassin, I usually evaded discussions involving my beliefs. She was always quite determined to drag them from me. In her arms, my resistance waned.

“It is quite complicated for me. I have no faith, Leliana. I was orphaned as a baby in Denerim. Sister Nelda found me and raised me in the alienage. Of course she taught me about the Maker and Andraste. No matter how good her intentions, she wanted me to forget my Dalish roots. She even took away my given name.”

“Jashen is not your birth name?”

Leliana, still on her side, propped her head up with her hand, her copper hair all mussed and adorable. The urge to reach out and caress her milky skin was overwhelming, so I focused on the cobwebs above me.

“My mother named me Alim. My father was a Surana. I know very little of them. Both had been raised in the Denerim Alienage and it was my understanding that all they had was each other and both died of the black flu shortly after I was born. Sister Nelda cared for me as soon as my mother was unable and when she passed, took me to the orphanage. After that, she was the only family I had. For whatever reason, she must have developed an attachment to me. Some days I cursed her for erasing my elven name but on others, I think it was the only way she could try and give me a different future. ”

“She was a Sister of Charity, was she not?”

I nod. “She was very kind to me. When I was old enough, I traveled with her throughout the alienage as she offered medical treatment to the sick and infirm. One day, we came upon a labouring woman. It was a very difficult birth and after many hours, out came a still, quiet babe. I could tell by the look on Sister Nelda’s face that the news was not good. Before a prayer could be uttered, the mother started to fade and Sister Nelda handed me the child in haste as she worked to revive her. I watched his little face, so quiet and still and I felt a tingling in my hand. From over my shoulder, I could hear the mother rasp in her dying breaths for her baby, but Sister Nelda tried to distract her. I placed my hand over the baby’s face and suddenly felt an energy flow from my hand—and into him. He squirmed. At first, I thought it was my mind playing tricks, but I heard a little squawk. Quickly, I removed my hand and he let out a lusty cry. My hands were glowing a brilliant blue… they were cold to the touch yet on fire at the same time. Sister Nelda had been watching me… and I will never forget that look on her face.”

“That was the first time you discovered you were a mage, no?”

I nod. So swaddled in my own memories that I had just become aware that her fingers were brushing softly against my ear. I turned to nuzzle her hand and shift in closer.

“It was not long after, that the templars arrived. She had no choice.”

Her brows knitted together. She knews this was a painful topic for me, and encouraged me to continue with a eager look and a subtle nod. “There is no teaching of the Dalish ways at the Circle—or anything regarding the elves for that matter. I learned the Chant of Light along with the four schools of magic. These gods of whom you speak are strangers to me… just as the Maker and Andraste are...” I hoped my honesty did not offend her.

By this time, her hand had found my eagerness and she lightly massaged the tip. I shuddered under her touch. In one smooth movement, I rolled on top of her, her bare skin brushing against mine. There were to be no more words and I plunged into her darkness.

>>..:=+*+=:..<<

“I expected more from you, Commander.”

I was just heading out of the Keep when Velanna had caught up with me. I should not have been so thoughtless as to try and leave without bidding her good bye, but I was trying to avoid her inevitable confrontation. I clutched the strap of my pack on my shoulder and rocked on my heels so as to seem impatient. I stared at her coldly. Any other gesture would be interpreted as weakness. The wind was raw and the ashen clouds threatened snow. I hoped she had no intention of keeping me out here very long.

“Then, I suppose you should adjust your expectations. I have a coach to catch. I’ll return in a month’s time and we’ll speak more then.”

Her brow furrowed and lip curled. No wonder the Clan had exiled her. There were times that I felt like doing the same.

“We are Elvhen. Whether Dalish or Alienage-born, it matters not, _Lethallin_. Why must are you cater to this foolish charade? The Chantry is just using you… using you to absolve their centuries of wrong that they have so ruthlessly inflicted upon the Elvhen and the mages. It shames them that it took an alienage mage to stop the Blight. Now they must save face to the rest of Thedas and concoct some reprehensible defense regarding the necessity of the alienages, not to mention the Circle.”

“I have my own reasons for attending, Velanna.” She did have a point, but I was not about to concede or change my plans. 

Juzo’s patience wore thin and sat at my feet. He panted and looked toward the gates.

“Creators! Think of the message that it will send to the _shemlens_ … They will think that their mythology has taken root amongst the Dalish! If you will not make a stand against the Chantry and not attend— for both our sakes, then refuse in the name of every elven in Thedas, Alim.” That was the other thing about Velanna. Once she had learned my birth name, she insisted upon using it. She forgets who I am. She has forgotten that I am Jashen Hess. She has forgotten that I am not quite Elven nor Human, I am betwixt and between. I was raised by a Chantry sister and then by the Circle. I know little of my culture. Yet, even amongst the mages I was an outsider.

I knew that this discussion would end in a stalemate and she would continue to fume even after I leave. There was nothing I could do about that. Remaining in anger was her choice.

“This has nothing to do with the Dalish… or the mages, or that Chantry for that matter, Velanna. Now if you will excuse me.” I pushed past her and walked briskly for the gate with Juzo following at my feet.

From behind, I could still sense her anger as she kept pace with me. “Then why, Alim?”

“I have my own reasons that you will have to be satisfied with.” I should say that I need closure, that I need to find Leliana, that I want to see her one last time, but I do not have the heart to deal with Velanna’s vitriol. Leliana was connected to the very source of her ire. She managed to follow me to the courtyard where the coach was waiting. Upon seeing me, a groom opened the door, bowed his head reverently as I ushered in the dog and took my seat.

“Fine day for travelling, wouldn’t you say Vel?” Sigrun dismissed the groom’s offer of help and climbed into the coach, throwing her pack onto the bench across from me.

“You’re taking _her_?” Velanna asked incredulously.

“You snooze, you lose.” Sigrun grinned, giving Juzo a friendly scratch on the head.

I reached my hand outside the window, giving the side of the coach a tap.  The reins snapped, the coach lurched and then the courtyard filled with sound of hoof falls on cobblestone. 

Velanna’s expression did not soften in the least. It seemed appropriate to leave the discussion unresolved.

And with that, Sigrun and I made for Denerim.  

>>..:=+*+=:..<<

_The Ruined Temple, 18 Months Prior…_

This was not the first riddle put to me. I was still trying to decide what sort of trickery has beguiled my senses. Surely, the ghost of Thane Shartan was not standing before me. Sten was expressionless and whether we shared the same vision, I will never know. The dog of course, wandered about the room and marked his territory, while Leliana’s eyes are wide with awe and reverence. The contrast between us was almost frightening, and I wondered if we were seeing the same illusion, the same trick of the mind. She crossed her arms at her chest and bowed as if Shartan himself was standing before her. Fear crept into the back of my mind, troubled that this could be the work of demons. We must resist or else be dragged back to the Fade. Demons are only the projection of a weak mind, I reminded myself. 

The apparition's hollow voice echoed throughout the chamber. “I'd neither a guest nor a trespasser be. In this place I belong, that belongs also to me.”

What would I know about belonging? Was he referring to faith? I flashed a glance at Leliana. She always felt at home in her love for the Maker. Can this Shartan mirage tell that I don’t have an immediate answer?

“Home,” She whispered in my ear as her hand interlocks with mine.

Although I wanted to shrug as I offer the dubious answer, I managed to straighten my shoulders and boldly state the response. In a whiff of smoke, the apparition acknowledged the veracity of my statement and dissipated from whence it came. I squeezed her hand as my silent thank-you.

Nearest the door, movement caught my eye. It was another hungry ghost, ready to devour our rationality. I hated this test. 

I thought about what this Shartan had said and curled up my lip. “And what would I know about home?”

Leliana offered a sad glance. Seeing such sorrow in her gaze never failed to stir a heaviness in my chest.

She placed her hand over my heart. “Home is here.”

I smiled and kissed her cheek. “Then I am home at this moment.”

“Shartan offers the promise that the Dalish and the world of men can work as equals.”

I furrowed my brow. “Tell that to the folk in the alienage.”

“The alienage is the sin of my mothers and brutality of my fathers.  When I worked in the Lothering Chantry, I always read from the Canticle of Shartan. The Revered Mother threatened to excommunicate me.” She flashed a naughty grin, which nearly brings me to my knees.

I managed to collect myself. “Isn’t that text still considered heresy?”

Leliana giggles. “Yes indeed. Although I am sure the Chantry has forgotten that Andraste would have wished to honour her greatest supporter.” She looked upward and cleared her throat. “ _At Shartan's word, the sky grew black with arrows. At Our Lady's, ten thousand swords rang from their sheaths, a great hymn rose over Valarian Fields gladly proclaiming: Those who had been slaves were now free.”_

I chuckled. “Now the Chantry can’t go freeing slaves! Who else would there be to wipe the Divine’s arse?”

I must have hit a nerve. “Jashen…” she responded flatly, as if to chastize me.

“What? You think it is the role of the elves to tend to the Divine’s brown eye?” I was having fun at this point.

“Jashen!” Her voice had become shrill and her cheek bloomed with embarrassment. “We can’t just talk about the Divine like that. Of course slavery is wrong! Shouldn’t we finish this? I think there is another riddle we must answer.”

We. I quite liked the sound of that. I only hoped things between Leliana and I do not end as badly as they did for Andraste and Shartan. The thought of home still lingers, as I prepare for the next illusion.


End file.
